


Five Sentence Fics

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 07:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12551940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: A series of tiny fics based on prompts.





	1. Just a few more, almost there, you’re doing great, Scully!

She wiped her brow and scrunched her eyes shut; breathe, she told herself, just breathe it out. Eyes open again, she looked at Mulder, who was holding his finger and thumb a few centimetres apart and smiling like a sot.  
“Is that how close I am?” she asked, drawing in a huge breath, ready to give it one last push.   
She gripped the wheel and pulled it hard down, finally maneouvering the SUV out from behind the car in front.   
“Next time we go out, Mulder, I’m drinking and you’re driving.”


	2. Dinner should be here in 20

“What are we going to do until then?” she swung the chair around and uncrossed her legs, “I’m hungry.”  
He loosened his tie. “You need a little taster of something, Scully - do you prefer sweet or salty?” His breath was hot on her face as bent over her to pull open the desk drawer. “I can offer you candy or seeds. Or…”  
“Or,” she said, brushing her lips across his stubbled jaw, “definitely or.”


	3. Ugh, why am I still awake?

Scully smiled and leant into him, inhaling that Mulder mix of salt and musk. “Because your body clock is out of whack.”  
He shifted a little closer so that her body fit against his, letting their natural curves and grooves slot together. She closed her eyes and let herself drift, listening to the sounds of his breathing getting heavier and slower.  
“He’s just like you,” she whispered, brushing the downy head of their newborn son, who was nestled against Mulder’s bare chest, eyes flickering in the thrall of a dream. “He needs the body contact to sleep.”


	4. He pushed her back, ignoring the paperwork, crimes scene photos and autopsy reports.

She moaned on the way down and the sound rewired his brain so that all his awareness focused just on her. Friction from the soft fabric of her blouse sparked and he flicked open the buttons to reveal the plane of her stomach, the swell of her breasts, the length of her neck. Her body spray, her face cream, her shampoo, all the aromas of Scully blended to the perfect perfume that could never be bottled. She tasted of coffee and clarity - how had he ever thought this was a bad idea? His senses on overload sent coded messages to his cock and he had never been so grateful to be in the basement office.


	5. Can life get any better than this?

He has a pepperoni pizza in a box on the bed, baseball on the tv, a working theory and a profile and Scully in the room next door. He’s about to bite into his first slice when he hears her cry. He reaches for his weapon and is off the bed in a microbeat. He waits at the adjoining door, handle cold against his hot palm, assessing the risk, before he pushes it open and steps through, breathing in the aromas of her room. Her voice is low, throaty, raw and he steps into the bathroom, watching her silhouetted through the steamed glass, arm moving rhythmically, head thrown back and her pleasure sending painful jolts through his nervous system.


	6. All you have to do is pick a color.

“I know, but it’s more than just a colour.”  
He wrinkles his brow and waits a beat, filtering through the hundreds of acerbic responses that pop into his head, knowing that one wrong phrase, word, syllable, breath is likely to end in a…debate.   
“How do you mean?” seems the safest option.  
She pulls another sample card from the shelf, pale golds and ambers. “Repainting the bedroom represents a new era for us, Mulder; it’s not just pigment, resin and solvent on the plasterboard. It’s our life.”


	7. Tell me this story has a happy ending, I need a happy ending right about now.

The man leans back and sighs. “What’s a happy ending?”  
She quirks her head, “Sunsets, dreams-come-true, princes and princesses, you know the sort of thing.”  
“Well, this story is about two people who weren’t quite in the prince and princess category, but it does have some sunsets, and some sunrises; it has dreams come true and nightmares unfolding; it has monsters and mutants and conspiracies and aliens, but it also has trust, respect and deep and unyielding love.”  
The woman leans her head on the man’s shoulder. “Your parents were amazing, William. And their story should be told.”  
“Where do I begin?”


	8. Black lace against creamy white skin, but all he could see was the diamond on her finger.

Her hair was penny-bright in the diner, her dress short enough to reveal the backs of her slim thighs and the shadows and lights of the back of her knees as she leant against the counter, twisting the ring on her finger.  
He bent close, too close, over her and whispered, “Congratulations, Agent Scully, I’m just sorry you didn’t tell me before.”  
She ducked her chin and let out a shallow sigh, but didn’t pull back, “it’s not practical to wear it in our line of work, is it?”  
He nodded and grinned, “Losing the physical representation of a promise of a lifetime’s commitment to one man while delving into the chest cavity of a monster, mutant or alien, would have to be the most practical reason I’ve ever heard for not declaring your engagement; I hope your fiance is as proud of your pragmatism as I am.”  
A strikingly ordinary man walked from the toilets and extended a hand to him, “I’m Ethan, you must be Dana’s partner. I was just telling her how proud I am of the independent and practical woman she’s become since she joined you on the X-Files; if this is the result of how far you’ve come already, I can’t wait to see where your journey together ends up.”


	9. Her head rested on his shoulder and the world seemed alright again.

His heart stopped thrumming in his chest, an inexplicable calm running through his veins. He ran his tongue over his lips, dry from gulping down air. Tentatively, he touched his face, following the sticky tracks where his tears had fallen. No more tears, she’d said. For the final time, he laid down with her and listened to the silence where her life had been; their life.


End file.
